


Contents Under Pressure

by Jessicatty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e11 Battlefield, F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash, angst angst angst, emotional breakdown, kidnapping of a minor, seriously this entire thing is a giant angst fest, shit load of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:31:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessicatty/pseuds/Jessicatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing that Stiles is aware of is pain. He groans and makes a feeble effort to hold onto blessed unconsciousness but the throbbing in his head is stronger than his will. His mouth tastes wrong and chemical. There is the sensation of something coating his tongue and the back of his throat and it makes his stomach turn. It feels disgusting and scrubbing the roof of his mouth with his tongue does nothing to expel the taste. A vicious swirl of nausea hits him and he shudders. It just makes his head hurt worse along with the realization that he isn't in his bed</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contents Under Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> I just had to write this because of that beautiful opening scene and my Allison feels. :C

The first thing that Stiles is aware of is pain. He groans and makes a feeble effort to hold onto blessed unconsciousness but the throbbing in his head is stronger than his will. His mouth tastes wrong and chemical. There is the sensation of something coating his tongue and the back of his throat and it makes his stomach turn. It feels disgusting and scrubbing the roof of his mouth with his tongue does nothing to expel the taste. A vicious swirl of nausea hits him and he shudders. It just makes his head hurt worse along with the realization that he isn't in his bed.

Stiles warily peels his eyes apart and pushes down the familiar panic. It wont do him any good, and by now he's had plenty of practice at picking out the useful emotions to feel and shoving all the rest back inside. He's been doing it since his mom died, when the grief was too raw and too vast to handle. Everything is going to come springing out one day, he knows, but in the mean time his dam is still there. He has enough sandbags to hold off the flood for a while longer. 

The room he is in is dark and smells sour, like it doesn't get much use or air. Its not helping his stomach any and he hopes that he wont vomit all over himself, because that's the last thing that he needs. From what he can see of the room is interrupted in even rows of something black looking and he is pretty sure that they're bars. It's very likely that he is in a cage. He wonders if it would be possible to sit up, and he lifts his head to test the waters.

It hurts, bright bursts of pain spreading out through his skull making him feel weak, but its not unbearable. He pauses a moment before deciding it would probably be better to do it quickly. Like ripping off a band aid. He shoves himself up and backwards and luckily there is a wall behind him. He leans against it and closes his eyes against the pain in his head and the creeping feeling of bile rising up the back of his throat. 

Stiles is lucky that they didn't bother tying him up. He wants to laugh at the thought because of course, why would they tie up the weak little human? They took him out without even a struggle. The last thing he remembers is the elation of having Lydia look at him like he was actually worth something, of feeling like for once he was really was actually worth something even if it was just for the last few minutes of some stupid game, drop like a stone into his stomach as soon as the lights went out. There had been screaming and panic and people rushing past him in the dark and a hand pressing something over his mouth and then- then he woke up here.

Stiles woke up here, like this, alone in the dark and fighting the urge to break apart with every breath. He was so tired. So tired of everything. Tired of fighting, tired of lying, tired of- tired of drowning. He took a few deep calming breaths and opened his eyes to the dark once more. He needs more information. Knowledge was power and all that jazz. He'd needs to know where he was before he could form a plan to escape- if he could escape. He wonders how much time has passed, how long it took anyone to realize he was missing. 

He hopes his dad was okay. God please let his dad be okay. Please let him be the only casualty of the evening. He can't handle killing his dad too. He wouldn't be able to survive it. He killed his mom just by being himself. He knows that the stress of raising an ADHD kid made her stressed. It made her not take care of herself like she should of and the chemotherapy didn't work. He'd be doing the same thing to his father because he had to be a little shit and stick his nose where it wasn't supposed to be, like always, and got Scott bitten by a fucking werewolf. If Scott hadn't been a werewolf then there wouldn't of been any problem with him dating Allison and Derek would have probably never found out that Peter was the Alpha and- oh god Kate probably would have killed him. Killed Derek and Peter. Truly finished off the Hales for good. Gerard never would have came here because Kate would have never of died. There would have been no Kanima and crazy Matt hitting his dad over the head in the police station at ass o' clock at night.

He feels guilty for even thinking it, because he really doesn't want Derek dead, not really. He wonders when exactly that happened, but doesn't feel up to examining that realization at the moment. He needs to stop thinking because his heart is hammering away in his chest and he can feel every bead of cold sweat slide down his skin with agonizing detail. He needs to breathe. He needs to focus. Focus on the room.

There is a door that reaches the ceiling of the low hanging room he is in with steps leading up to it that makes him think he is in a basement somewhere. It would explain the rank stale smell that curls up his nostrils with every inhale. One length of the room is made entirely of cages and they have placed him dead center of all of them. He thinks he can make out dark stains on the floors that might be old blood. Thankfully there are no tacky torture instruments hung up as an intimidation tactic, the walls are bare. He thinks they don't really need it anyways. The whole dungeon set up really speaks for itself.

Stiles takes inventory of himself now. The back of his head feels tenderly swollen when he lifts a shaky hand to touch it and he guesses that they must have thrown him down on the ground when they locked him in. Irrationally he feels upset about this because a part of him feels that after drugging and kidnapping him they could at least attempt to not actively give him a concussion while he is passed out. He pats himself down for injuries and realizes that someone removed his lacrosse padding and redressed him while he was out. They took his shoes and his helmet and gloves. It makes him feel violated and weak and unclean which is stupid. Its not like he was molested or anything, and even if he was he wouldn't remember it.

His skin feels tight over his muscles and bones. It makes him feel trapped, but of course he feels trapped. He is trapped. In a cage. For a moment Stiles thinks he can feel his rapidly beating heart pump blood through his veins, but he pushes all the unwanted sensations away. He pushes down the trickle of hysteria rising up just like the bile in his throat. 

Stiles leans over to the side and is sick all over the ground. It splatters onto his arms and puddles to seep into his pants and as soon as he stops heaving he scrambles backwards along the wall till he his the side of his cage. The smell is overpowering, the rancid taste clinging to his taste buds, but the chemical tang has lessened now. Stiles is almost grateful. He leans into the corner and thinks about his session with the guidance counselor. He honestly isn't sure if this is agony or hell. He doesn't know what his limits are. 

He will try to keep the water out, to secure his hold on the flood of emotions threatening to break through to the surface. He knows that he isn't broken all the way, not yet. If this turns out to be hell after all then he'll just have to keep going. He'll hold onto the trust that Scott and Derek will find him, that they will win. That there is a way out of this.

He'll hold on till the very last second.

===

Stiles doesn't know how much time passes with him staring into space with his mind wandering. He chews on the bottom of his jersey, soaking it with spit, and stares at the bars. He thinks about his dad, about Lydia, and Scott. He thinks about Derek and he's not really sure why, but he thinks about him almost as much as he thinks about his dad. Its been that way for a while now, he can finally admit. Somewhere along the way Derek has become important to him. He can't even pinpoint when it started, because it was just something that was always there that gradually grew. Sometimes he thinks he can see glimpses of a person who is even more broken and miserable than he is, and the sense of kinship he feels is as cleansing as it is heartbreaking.

His headache is down to a dull throb and he can barely smell the stale air and vomit anymore when he hears the doorknob turn. He spits out his jersey and turns to face the door. He can't see who is standing in the doorway. A shadowy hand runs along the wall beside the door frame and suddenly Stiles is blinded because his little visitor just flipped the light switch. He flinches back into nothing and lifts an arm to hide his eyes behind.

"...Stiles?", a hoarse female voice asks. The woman's voice breaks on his name and he knows that pitch and tone.

"Allison.", he responds dryly, and lowers his arm to squint at her. She's still standing at the top of the steps and has her hand frozen on the light switch. He still can't really see very well yet.

"What ...how did you...", she starts and trails off. Stiles decides to answer the question anyways.

"End up in what I'm guessing is the basement/dungeon of your house? Oh you know how it goes. One minute you're out and about in town the next minute your crazy grandpa covers my mouth in a chloroform rag and kidnaps me. Happens all the time." He shrugs lazily like there isn't a pool of his own vomit less than 3 feet away from him. Like they aren't having this conversation separated by lengths of cold cement and iron bars.

Allison slowly walks down the steps and stops once her feet reach the floor. He watches her face as she looks him over and her eyes flicker over the cell. She's trying desperately not to look guilty, and remain unaffected. That was good. Good. If she was feeling guilt then she wasn't completely beyond reason. Stiles could allow himself to feel a little bit of hope.

"Why would he kidnap you?", she asks and that's a really good question actually. He wishes he had an answer. He hadn't even been entirely sure that it had been Gerard that kidnapped him until Allison opened the door. Scott had been frustratingly tight lipped after the night of the station and with Matt dead he had no idea who could be controlling Jackson now. 

"Oh I don't know, maybe because I'm the weakest link of Derek's pack?", he guesses. Its a lie, but she didn't need to know that. He's not a member of the pack, but Scott is and that means...something. He's involved in this whole mess at least.

Allison takes a sharp breath and her jaw tightens. Her eyes actually look like little lazerbeams of hate and she grits out, "Derek," between clenched teeth. It's weird. So weird, because yeah last time he'd checked Allison hadn't exactly been Derek's greatest fan but now she's suddenly acting like the dude had personally pissed in her cornflakes right in front of her or something.

"So you're bait then? Okay. I can deal with that. Grandpa should have told me, but if this gets us Derek then I get over it." She nods to herself and Stiles can see the ice frost over her eyes. There isn't any of the warmth and compassion that he remembers being there before. It makes his stomach knot in anxiety. He's hasn't wanted to factor in what it would mean if Allison really had turned against them. His chances of getting out of this alive had suddenly dwindled in half.

He licked his lips and decided to do what he did best, annoy people into giving information. It didn't always work but his options were very limited.

"Oh? So you're perfectly okay with battering and kidnapping your perfectly human classmates who have done nothing to you and have actually acted as your very own personal instant messaging device between you and your boyfriend. Your boyfriend who is a werewolf and the beta of the man you are trying to lure in and what? Kill? What reason do you seem to want him dead other than he happens to sprout too much hair every once in a while?"

Allison was suddenly standing right at the bars and gripping them so tightly her knuckles were white. Her eyes were wide and wet with unshed tears, complexion pale and lips tightly pressed together. He could recognize something in her that he remembered seeing in the mirror months after his mom had finally passed. He'd seen it lurking the back of his dad's eyes when he thought no one was looking. It never actually went away. They both just got better at hiding it.

Guilt. Grief. Fury. Helplessness. 

Fear.

"Derek killed my mother, Stiles."

That was just- Derek what? No. No he didn't want to believe that. Couldn't. There had to be an explanation because-

"I don't know what you were told Allison, but your mom? Yeah, she tried to kill Scott the night of the rave. She was poisoning him with wolfsbane and Derek felt him dying or whatever with his super werewolfy alpha powers and saved him. From your mom. So just, yeah, you might want to think about that before going off an demanding a blood sacrifice and all."

He watches her as her face actually crumbles and fat tears slide down her face. It makes him feel like a jerk, but she needs to know this. She needs to wake up and realize that it wasn't all Derek's fault. Mrs. Argent was going to kill Scott after all, and she would have if it weren't for Derek. Stiles couldn't help but think that she'd gotten what she deserved, but as he looks at the way Allison is now slumped and clinging to the bars now he immediately feels intensely guilty. She was still someone's mother. People love her and miss her.

He understood that all too well.

"I'm sorry though. About your mom."

Allison doesn't look at him or acknowledge him speaking. She just continues to cry quietly. He keeps on going.

"I know you're angry and scared and freaking out about spending the rest of your life with this giant mom sized hole in your life. It sucks. It totally does. I get it."

The hole never goes away, you just fill your life with enough things so the hole isn't so obvious anymore. So its half hiding behind the latest video game or book series. It you focus enough you can even forget its there for a while. Stiles wants to cry now too, and his eyesight blurs. He can't see Allison anymore, just smears of color.

"Killing Derek isn't going to make you hurt any less though. It wont bring her back and years from now after the grief isn't so fresh I think you're going to regret it."

He feels a tear slide down his cheek and he sniffles. He's so busy trying to will away his tears and push his emotions back down that he doesn't notice that the soft sobs that Allison was making have stopped. He flinches when she speaks.

"Okay."

Stiles blinks hard to clear his vision and she's nodding at him, a hopelessly sad expression on her face. She sees him looking and attempts a smile. It looks more like a grimace but it'll do. She looks more like herself that she has in weeks and that's something.

"Okay," he repeats and does something of a smile himself.

She picks the lock with a bobby pin because they have no idea where Gerard would leave the keys.

===

It turns out Stiles really does have a concussion so he's resting in a hospital bed after everything goes down. He is studiously not thinking of 'everything that went down' and counting the holes in the ceiling tile. The hospital gown and sheets feel like sandpaper to his skin. How much money was this place shelling out a year on starch alone? He wondered if bed sores were statistically more likely here because of it.

His dad has just been sent home to rest by a stubborn Mrs. McCall. He's eternally grateful to her for that really. Seeing his dad look so pale and haggard over him just makes him feel like such a shit son. He hates it. He hates that look in his dad's eye, the one that says that he's taking everything in incase this is the last time he'll see his son alive. He hates that he put it there, but mostly he just hates himself.

Stiles looses count on the ceiling for the third time when the door opens and Derek Hale walks in and shuts the door. Stiles feels his heart speed up a bit, and even if Derek wasn't a werewolf the increase in beeps from the heart monitor would have given him away. Stiles huffs as the creeper just stands there and frowns at him. He doesn't take it personally because frowning is kind of Derek's default expression.

"So did you come here because you ran out of people to loom at or is there another thrilling reason for your company?"

Derek, bless his little tiny blackened heart, just frowns deeper at him. He actually takes a step toward the bed though so at least that's something. He looks tired as Stiles feels. There are bags under his eyes and his hair is greasy and limp looking. He looks like he needs a good shave even more than usual. Not for the first time Stiles wonders where exactly Derek actually does take showers and practice general hygiene. Derek still doesn't say anything and he feels compelled to fill the silence like always.

He licks his lips and ignores the way Derek's eyes flicker to them and stay. 

"I guess that's a yes to the looming then. Are you sure there aren't any non concussed people you couldn't loom over? If you're really feeling hard up you could go loom over some coma patients while you're here. Maybe even the penetrating force of your stare will wake them up, you never know."

Derek lifts his gaze back to his eyes and looks frustrated. He flares his nostrils and he sighs with his entire body, which is totally unfair because Stiles isn't the one being all difficult and silent and broody here, okay? That was totally all Derek. Totally.

"Stiles."

What?

"What?"

Derek's eyebrows do this funny thing where he looks kind of concerned and Stiles wonders why. He's never seen that look on Derek's stupidly handsome face before and really can't understand why he'd be making that kind of face at Stiles of all people. Its not like Derek actually cares about him or anything, right?

Right?

"Your heartbeat. It hasn't let up at all. You still smell like fear and pain. Why?"

Okay so maybe Derek does care about him a little bit if he's actually bothered to ask that question. It makes something deep inside of him twist with a giddy sort of nervousness. The kind of nervousness he'd get around Lydia when-

Oh.

So that answers a few things. 

He doesn't know how to answer Derek though. Can't even begin to try. He doesn't know if its safe for him to finally open his mouth. To let the water in. He doesn't know if it will ever be safe enough. Who knew what was coming next? If they'd ever catch a break? They still had Peter to deal with and what if more hunters came? Stiles had to be strong. He had to be prepared. He had to-

Derek was standing over him with both his hands on Stiles's shoulders and looking actually really panicked like he had no idea what to do or what he was doing. Stiles realized the heart monitor was making shrill rapid bleats and he was shaking. There would a nurse along soon, but Stiles didn't care. He hooked both of his arms around Derek's neck. He couldn't stop himself. He clung to Derek desperately because with that one touch from the older man he suddenly couldn't keep back the flood. He broke. Derek was impossibly tense against him and would probably kill him for this later but in the meantime he could feel hesitant hands petting his back as he cried. Stiles would probably want to kill himself for this later too.

It didn't matter though because for the first time in what seemed like years Stiles felt like he could breathe. 

He felt- safe.

Safe. 


End file.
